


My Fears Became My Obsession

by Lorb_13



Category: bts
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Body Dysphoria, Cancer, Depression, Eating Disorders, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Pain, Panic Attacks, Physical Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:29:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28373178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorb_13/pseuds/Lorb_13
Summary: Namjoon had just called Yoongi instead of the suicide hotline. He had just called Yoongi, the man that hated his guts, instead of the fucking suicide hotline.Taehyung had just found Hoseok’s bottle of pills. And Hoseok had just found Taehyung’s hospital pamphlets.And Namjoon had just realized he had fucked up.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

it’s all angst and i wanna cry. and kill myself. i promise i’ll actually write this. i just had to make the first chapter (or introduction) to force myself to realize that i need to write this.

my fears have become my obsession.


	2. Chapter 2

Namjoon was tired. He was tired of dance practices, steamed up mirrors, and sweaty bodies. He was tired of the five members that always huddled together during breaks, their precious giggles reminding Namjoon that he wasn’t part of the huddle. He was tired of the thin and pale body of Taehyung collapsed in the corner, alone and silent as always, a silent reminder that he doesn’t speak unless spoken to and he doesn’t like to get spoken to. He was also tired of how sharp his voice came out, how Jimin would flinch when Namjoon tried to round up the members for another hour of exhausting dancing. He was tired of being an outcast. There shouldn’t be outcasts in k-pop groups. They were all supposed to be friends, to even consider each other as family. 

But instead there were just five family members and two people on the side, awkwardly watching and wishing they could be loved as well.

It was 4 am in the morning, and Namjoon was still tired. He had supposed to have been up an hour ago; he was supposed to be at his writing studio right now. But instead, he had wasted an hour in his bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing he was dead. 

Not dead, he reminded himself. Different. 

Namjoon had stopped going to the therapist almost a year ago. After nine months of sitting in a small musty room, staring awkwardly at an old woman as she flipped through his paper records and notes repeatedly to fill the silence, you get tired of it. She must have had them memorized, Namjoon thought. She must have known the exact term for his suicide attempt, some fancy word for “losing their fucking mind in a music studio, stabbing a dull razor blade into their wrists, and throwing themself in front of a car, expecting to die”. She must have known the one reason he had accidentally let slip that one time he had had an (almost) silent mental breakdown in that awful silence of his useless therapy session. He wondered what she wrote down. Perhaps “he doesn’t have any friends” or “no one likes him” or “he can’t control his anger about himself that he takes it out on the people surrounding him in his daily life”. 

Namjoon swallowed, his throat tight. Putting it that way made him sound stupid and like a horrible person. Which he was. 

Because now he could hear the clatter of dishes, a sure sign that Jin was awake. If he stumbled down to the kitchen now, Jin wouldn’t hesitate to scold him with no filter for messing up the obvious schedule, but Namjoon would still be able to ask for a plate of food to be served for him too. But if he came down later, Jin would yell at him for not coming down earlier so he could have made enough food for seven so everyone would be able to get equal amounts. 

Namjoon just would not eat, he decided. He would go to the kitchen, take one of his dreaded anti-depression pills that management still somehow made appear in the bottle, and slip away to his studio, completely avoiding Jin’s wrath. 

It sounded like a good plan, until Namjoon was dressed, showered, and standing at the doorway of the kitchen, blocked by Jin who’s arms were angrily crossed, spatula in one hand, the other hand in a tight fist. 

“There’s a schedule for a reason, Namjoon,” Jin was the first to speak. “You can’t just lazily lay around in bed all day so you can have good cooking. You’ve got to be responsible. You’re the leader. Now all the members are going to think they can just sleep all day, because one very irresponsible person decided they were going to.” 

Namjoon froze for a moment, dread and self-hatred seeping into his bones. I know, he wanted to scream, I know I’m worthless. Just let me get my stupid pill before I kill myself.

“What?” Jin’s tone had suddenly changed, a look of shock on his face.

Oh. Oh, shit. Namjoon had said that aloud.

“What do you mean?” Jin sounded desperate, and Namjoon’s stomach turned. He sounded like he cared. Oh my god, he sounded like he cared. 

Namjoon wanted to cry right then and there. But he couldn’t. He had to play it off as a joke. No one knew about his stupid pills or his stupid depression. He had always torn the label of the pill bottle. For all he knew, the members thought it was Viagra or something. 

“It was a joke,” he said, bluntly. “I didn’t mean it. I just am getting my pill and leaving. I’ll get out of your way. I’m sorry, hyung.”

Jin still looked shaken up, his eyes following Namjoon as he stepped out of the way, letting the younger man pass. “You know you can always talk to us, Namjoon-ah.”

Namjoon sighed, frustration building up inside of him. No, he fucking can’t, and they both should know that. No one likes him here, it is obvious. His job is to write and produce songs, rap, and dance. And that’s it. He’s not here to be a friend or to be liked. 

“It’s fine, hyung,” he managed, roughly pulling the cabinet door open and reaching in for his pill bottle. It rattled with at most three pills inside, and he internally groaned, knowing he was almost out. He’d have to tell management to get more soon, because honestly he didn’t know what he would do without the pills clouding over his head everyday and clearing out his thoughts. 

There was a tense moment of silence as Namjoon tipped a pill into his mouth, threw his head back, and swallowed it dry. Then, Jin responded, his voice strained, “I don’t think it is. What would Yoongi say if he found out? He wouldn’t just let that slide. That’s not normal to say.”

Namjoon flinched. Yoongi, the one member who hated him most. The one member who would meet his eys without hesitation, but instead with a glare. The member who was supposed to be his best friend and his producing partner, but instead was his enemy who avoided speaking to Namjoon at all costs. 

And Namjoon knew why. He knew why no one liked him. He was too mean, too angry, too cold. He hated everyone and himself. 

At that thought, Namjoon shouldered his way past Jin, a new anger set fire inside of him. “I don’t care what Yoongi has to say. I don’t have time for this. I have a schedule to go to.”

“Wait, Namjoon, wait, this is serious-“

He could hear the footsteps of Jin behind him as he made his way to the front door, his fingers already grasping the door knob when Jin suddenly grabbed his wrist.

It hurt. Namjoon tried not to gasp, biting his lip as he felt Jin’s nails dig into multiple scabs. He jerked his arm away from Jin’s grasp, pulling away from the older man and shoving the door open in one move. “Fuck off,” he rasped out, and with a quick shove of the elbow, the door slammed behind him and he ran.


End file.
